rope, I heard Bill’s savage cry:
“That’s my job, lad! It’s me that jumps. I’ll snub this raft or die!”
I saw him leap, I saw him creep, I saw him gain the land;
I saw him crawl, I saw him fall, then run with rope in hand.
And then the darkness gulped him up, and down we dashed once more,
And nearer, nearer drew the jam, and thunder-like its roar.
Oh God! all’s lost … from Julie Claire there came a wail of pain,
And then — the rope grew sudden taut, and quivered at the strain;
It slacked and slipped, it whined and gripped, and oh, I held my breath!
And there we hung and there we swung right in the jaws of death.
A little strand of hemp rope, and how I watched it there,
With all around a hell of sound, and darkness and despair;
A little strand of hempen rope, I watched it all alone,
And somewhere in the dark behind I heard a woman moan;
And somewhere in the dark ahead I heard a man cry out,
Then silence, silence, silence, fell, and mocked my hollow shout.
And yet once more from out the shore I heard that cry of pain,
A moan of mortal agony, then all was still again.
That night was hell with all the frills, and when the dawn broke dim,
I saw a lean and level hand, but never sign of him.
I saw a flat and frozen shore of hideous device,
I saw a long-drawn strand of rope that vanished through the ice.
And on that treeless, rockless shore I found my partner — dead.
No place was there to snub the raft, so — he had served instead;
And with the rope lashed round his waist, in last defiant fight,
He’d thrown himself beneath the ice, that closed and gripped him tight;
And there he’d held us back from death, as fast in death he lay.…
Say, boys! I’m not the pious brand, but — I just tried to pray.
And then I looked to Julie Claire, and sore abashed was I,
For from the robes that covered her, I — heard — a — baby — cry.…
Thus was Love conqueror of death, and life for life was given;
And though no saint on earth, d’ye think — Bill’s squared hisself with Heaven?
The Headliner and the Breadliner
Moko, the Educated Ape is here,
The pet of vaudeville, so the posters say,
And every night the gaping people pay
To see him in his panoply appear;
To see him pad his paunch with dainty cheer,
Puff his perfecto, swill champagne, and sway
Just like a gentleman, yet all in play,
Then bow himself off stage with brutish leer.
And as tonight, with noble knowledge crammed,
I ’mid this human compost take my place,
I, once a poet, now so dead and damned,
The woeful tears half freezing on my face:
“O God!” I cry, “let me but take his shape,
Moko’s, the Blest, the Educated Ape.”
The Squaw Man
The cow-moose comes to water, and the beaver’s overbold,
The net is in the eddy of the stream;
The teepee stars the vivid sward with russet, red and gold,
And in the velvet gloom the fire’s a-gleam.
The night is ripe with quiet, rich with incense of the pine;
From sanctuary lake I hear the loon;
The peaks are bright against the blue, and drenched with sunset wine,
And like a silver bubble is the moon.
Cloud-high I climbed but yesterday; a hundred miles around
I looked to see a rival fire a-gleam,
As in a crystal lens it lay, a land without a bound,
All lure, and virgin vastitude, and dream.
The great sky soared exultantly, the great earth bared its breast,
All river-veined and patterned with the pine;
The heedless hordes of caribou were streaming to the West,
A land of lustrous mystery — and mine.
Yea, mine to frame my Odyssey: Oh, little do they know
My conquest and the kingdom that I keep!
The meadows of the musk-ox, where the laughing grasses grow,
The rivers where the careless conies leap.
Beyond the silent Circle, where white men are fierce and few,
I lord it, and I mock at man-made law;
Like a flame upon the water is my little light canoe,
And yonder in the fireglow is my squaw.
A squaw man! yes, that’s what I am; sneer at me if you will.
I’ve gone the grilling pace that cannot last;
With bawdry, bridge and brandy — Oh, I’ve drunk enough to kill
A dozen such as you, but that is past.
I’ve swung round to my senses, found the place where I belong;
The City made a madman out of me;
But here beyond the Circle, where there’s neither right or wrong,
I leap from life’s straitjacket, and I’m free.
Yet ever in the far forlorn, by trails of lone desire;
Yet ever in the dawn’s white leer of hate;
Yet ever by the dripping kill, beside the drowsy fire,
There comes the fierce heart-hunger for a mate.
There comes the mad blood-clamour for a woman’s clinging hand,
Love-humid eyes, the velvet of a breast;
And so I sought the Bonnet-plumes, and chose from out the band
The girl I thought the sweetest and the best.
O wistful women I have loved before my dark disgrace!
O women fair and rare in my home land!
Dear ladies, if I saw you now I’d turn away my face,
Then crawl to kiss your footprints in the sand!
And yet — that day the rifle jammed — a wounded moose at bay —
A roar, a charge … I faced it with my knife:
A shot from out the willow-scrub, and there the monster lay.…
Yes, little Laughing Eyes, you saved my life.
The man must have the woman, and we’re all brutes more or less,
Since first the male ape shinned the family tree;
And yet I think I love her with